


One second

by Captainmintyfresh



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle of Winterfell, F/M, Gen, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 20:40:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18698755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captainmintyfresh/pseuds/Captainmintyfresh
Summary: I joked to my friends about how it would have been cool if Jaime and Brienne were separated for the BoW so we'd get to see Jaime running around all 'wheres my wife' in 8x04 and then ended up writing a fic where he gets separated from her and is a bit more chill but still dramatic and in love.(Intended 139959395% as romantic but can be read as Gen i guess?)





	One second

The dead fell.

Jaime’s eyes skirted across the courtyard, praying to meet the eyes of someone who could tell him that it was real, the dead really had fallen and he wasn’t just hallucinating in his last moments. The courtyard was still, the dead stayed that way. with a gulp he realised that he was alone. The only living person amongst a field of corpses.

They had won.

One more second, one more second and he would have been joining them. Jaime drew in a shaking breath, limbs heavy with exhaustion as he let his gaze move over the fallen soldiers. Those killed only moments before the fight had ended staring unseeing at the dawn slowly breaking through the darkness, still dripping blood from their wounds unaware that they had been seconds away from salvation.

How cruel it was, to fight so hard, to survive so long only to be struck down moments before they could see the sunrise on a world where the dead weren’t a threat.

His lungs ached from exertion, a hot pain stinging beneath his ribs as his body begged him to just rest but instead he took a step, scrambling over the mound of bodies caging him against the stones, his feet cracked at bones as he went, his hand slipping in the blood and filth as he tried to lever himself over the bodies without putting his sword away.  

He could hear it, the soft sound of footsteps and the distant wail of sobs as it really began to click that it was over. As people were forced to start to process the hell they had survived in the peace of dawn.

Jaime pushed on, ignoring the dead as he stumbled towards the sounds of the living. He wondered who had made it, which faces he’d seen for the last time. He thought of the odd group they had made around the fire only last night, whether he’d find Ser Davos amongst the bodies, if he’d spot the tufts of unruly red hair of the strange wildling bringing a splash of colour to the corpses.

He froze as he thought of Brienne. She had been fine, the last he saw her she was okay. It couldn’t have been longer than ten minutes from them being separated to the end of the battle. Jaime felt worry creeping over him, ice coating his spine as dread filled his gut.

A single second, that was all it had taken for the undead dragon to send a stream of icy blue fire at the line He, Brienne and Podrick had made against the wall. One second that left Jaime diving to one side and Brienne and Pod to the other. The valley the fire had forged in the battle was filled with the dead the instant the flames cleared, pushing him further away until he had found himself backed against the crumbling brick of the outside of the broken tower.

How poetic it would have been, for him to die fighting for the Starks in the same spot he’d left Bran to die all those years ago. He should have, would have if the fight hadn’t ended.

He’d been sure he would. When Podrick and Brienne had been hidden by the rush of flames and he’d found himself amongst strangers he was sure that it was the end. That the fight was lost and the dead would wipe them all out.

But it had changed again, in a moment someone had killed the night king and the dead had fallen. One second and the battle was won. On a normal day ten minutes was nothing, but here, today, every second was an eternity. If one second could stop the dead in their tracks, then what horrors could ten minutes hold.

Jaime sped up, staggering over the rocks as he moved to the next courtyard. The bastard, Jon Snow, sprinted past him towards the Godswood, almost skewering himself on a fallen spear in his haste to get through the gate.

He should follow, find out what happened, how exactly the war ended, see if those who’d saved them all needed help. Instead he carried on. Thoughts of the Bastard and his family and _how_ pushed to the very back of his mind as his eyes scanned every corpse, every shaking survivor for one of the very few faces in the entire damned city that mattered to him.

He passed the body of the dragon who’d forced him to separate from her, wound his way around the walls until he saw the scorch marks meant for him, pushed on past it ignoring the exhausted shake of his thighs as he scrambled over bodies and rocks and puddles of gore searching in quiet desperation.

Finally, after what felt like years he spotted a familiar head of black hair raising from a crouch amongst the bodies, a head that he’d become all too accustomed to looking out for during the battle.

“Podrick.” Jaime called, relief coursing through him like a dam had broken. If Podrick could survive the last ten minutes then surely Brienne would have, surely Podrick, with his good heart would be nothing short of inconsolable if he’d watched her die. Yes, there were tear tracks on his face, tracking clear lines through the dirt and grime as he turned to face Jaime but that was expected. Not only was it his first battle but it was a battle horrifying enough that Jaime was sure that were he not driven on by adrenaline he’d have sat down and sobbed like a babe the moment the last of the dead hit the ground. by  

His eyes ran over the squire, searching for any injuries, it wouldn’t do well for the young man to survive the battle just to die because he was in too much shock to realise he had a wound.

His footsteps faltered as his eyeline reached Podricks feet. The sure-footed relief vanishing, replaced by a wave of bile rising in his throat as he saw the head of blonde hair, dirty with blood and blackened with soot.

“Ser Jaime.” Podrick breathed, voice ripe with relief and shaking with grief. Jaime’s eyes couldn’t leave the head of hair, his breath trapped in his throat, the taste of vomit hot in his mouth as he tried to remember how to breath and his legs shook, threatening to finally give out.

“No.” Jaime whispered, the word punched out of his gut without his consent. It wasn’t right. He couldn’t survive till dawn if the person who actually deserved to see the light of day again wasn’t there to witness the end of the battle. She couldn’t die when she’d finally, after so long, had the knighthood she’d deserved. She couldn’t die when finally, after all these years, they had found themselves on the same side, fighting side by side with a rhythm and a trust that most warriors could only ever dream of finding on the battlefield

It wasn’t fair, but then, death was unfair. So often it found those who were too good to leave the world early and dragged them away.. It took the honourable like Eddard Stark and the sweet like Myrcella, it took the loyal, like Ser Brienne, leaving only the sick and the twisted to continue to ruin the world and crush out every speck of good they could find.

Jaime let his eyes slide to the sky, trying unsuccessfully to pull in a breath.

“What happened?” His voice was wrecked, the words choked out past the lump in his throat in a way that hurt. He couldn’t bring himself to care, to be embarrassed that Podrick would so easily hear the devastation in his voice.

Could he have stopped it, if he’d been there, if he’d thought to dive right rather than left. If he’d had his right hand and been able to cut through the hoard and back to her side rather than retreating like a coward.

“Ser Brienne-” Podrick said, with an air of pride at the newly legitimized title she’d deserved for far too long “-told me to look for any wounded.” Jaimes brow furrowed, eyes moving back to the head of dirty blonde hair as hope he wished not to have bloomed, bright and dangerous in his chest. He took another step forwards, enough to see the rest of the body.

He drew a breath so hard it knocked him backwards, his heart stuttering in his chest as he spotted the body, too small for the towering stance of Brienne, attached to the head.

 _It ‘s not her_ He thought blinking against the stinging in his eyes as his chest continued to heave. He let his gaze move back to Podrick, who seemed to have realised where he was looking.

“He lasted long enough to see the dawn.” Podrick explained, lips wavering in a sad smile. “He-”

“Where-” Jaime croaked, interrupting Podricks tale. It was selfish, God it was selfish, Podrick had clearly waited with the soldier while he died, had tried to comfort him. The man had given his life for Winterfell, for the living, and Jaime should care enough to hear the tale of his last few moments from a grieving boy to gentle to have ever had to see a battle so fierce, and later he would, perhaps, but for all his posturing, all the times he’d believed himself to becoming a better man he was still selfish when it came to those he loved. “Where is she?”

“The crypts-” Podrick started and Jaime almost laughed, of course Brienne wouldn’t take a single moment to breathe after battle before checking on the lady of Winterfell.

As if on cue footsteps sounded, Sansa Star appearing on the other side of the courtyard. Her red hair looked almost alight in the glow of the early morning sun. And beside her, covered in filth and sweat and blood but gloriously alive, Brienne.

He was ready to catch her eye, lift his chin in a subtle nod, a gesture that he knows she would return, a silent ‘glad you didn’t die’. Perhaps he’d even let the hints of a smile lift at his lips, after all, they did survive the end of the world,  but instead his legs move of their own accord, his footsteps squelched in the blood running through the courtyard. His sword clattering to the ground as he moved towards her as if possessed.

Their armor sung as it clashed together, his hand cupping the sweat soaked nape of her neck from where he’d dragged her into him. His heart pounded in his chest, so hard that he was surprised no one could hear it slamming against his armour like the ring of a bell.

He opened his mouth, to talk, to make a jip or jab that would make the way he was clinging to her, face burrowed into the dank smelling skin of her neck less humiliating but found that even if he could speak past the lump in his throat he couldn’t find a single bad thing to say about her in that moment. No coherent thoughts coming to mind other than the one desperate murmur of ‘she’s alive’ running on a constant loop in his mind.

It was quiet, only the sound of Brienne’s breathing reaching his ears, even covered by armor he could feel how she tense she was, no doubt pulling some God awful confused face over his shoulder as he clung to her like a maiden reuniting with her husband after war.

“Ser Jaime-” She said, finally, voice lilted in curiosity, waiting for an explanation. Jaime didn’t give her one, just tightened his grip on the nape of her neck until he could feel the thrum of her pulse beneath his fingers, his gold hand scratching with an ugly sound over the back of her armor as he continued to try and pull her closer, to rid his mind of the image of bloody blonde hair amongst the dead that looked far too much like hers.

Finally she moved, raising her arms and fitting them around him all too awkwardly, like she was expecting Jaime to shove her away, or stab her now that she’d let him close. Jaime let out a huff of relief, sinking further into the uncomfortable hug wishing more than anything, even having his own right hand back, that they could be out of the armor so he could be close enough to feel the warmth of her skin and beat of her heart against his chest

“You know-“ Tyrion’s voice rang out in the otherwise quiet courtyard “-when we were down in the crypts I could think of nothing but my dear brother-” Jaime forced himself to let his grip loosen, drawing out the last few second, a few more heartbeats against the pads of his fingers as his brother spoke, voice drawling and mocking and so good to hear. “-Fighting an unbeatable army, probably worried sick about me also, counting the seconds until he could check I had survived the terrible night we had.” Jaime finally stepped back, hand sweeping from the nape of Brienne's neck, down the chilled armor over her shoulders as he caught her gaze, her eyes wide, cheeks dusted with pink beneath the dirt and blood staining them.

His hand continued, tracing down her armor, sure and swift, the backs of his fingers brushing over her damp palm, slipping between hers in a move so fast even he would doubt he’d done it if it weren’t for the tingles coating his hand everywhere her skin had touched. He let his hand drop back to his side, his head tilting in the nod he’d planned to give her.

“I’m glad you’re alive.” Jaime said. It was meant for Tyrion. But he couldn’t seem to draw his gaze away from the blue eyes so wide and searching he was sure they were delving in and seeing his very soul.

“..Yes, I can see that.” Tyrion teased. Jaime finally pulled his gaze from Brienne, meeting his brothers smug gaze with an all too telling heat to his cheeks.

“I should check on the wounded.” Jaime said thickly. Tyrion nodded mockingly. Jaime lingered for a second more before he marched past Brienne.

“Ser Jaime-” Podrick called. “-you forgot your sword.” Jaime kept walking, pretending he couldn’t hear the laughter shaking in Lady Starks voice as she began directing the survivors to how to help now the war was over or feel the heat of Ser Brienne’s gaze against his back.


End file.
